I am a romantic at heart and hold an ardent attachment and involvement between people and living things. My heart beats for the ideal, the impossible, the power of imagination.
When I think of my favorite novels, Gone With the Wind, Out of Africa, Chocolat, romance and hope are at the root of these love stories: the love for land, for growth, for money, for people, for acceptance, for chocolate, for one another.
Ambrose Bierce, an American writer, wrote“Romance is the fiction that owes no allegiance to the God of things as they are. In the novel the writer’s thought is tethered to probability, but in romance it ranges at will over the entire region of the imagination.”
‘Romance’ in the dictionary means: A mysterious or fascinating quality or appeal, as of something adventurous, heroic, or strangely beautiful.
Here, in the wine country, adventure and strangely beautiful happenings take place every day. The unruly vines in our lush vineyards and garden take a life of their own; the grapes and the pumpkins make for a breathtaking display of purple and orange, clustered in traditions of pleasure and promise.
With the turning of the grapes, romantic notions of winemaking, tasting, toasting and smiles come to mind; My pumpkins conjure up images of natural happiness, Willa Cather, the falling of Autumn leaves, the time for thanksgiving. They remind me of my mother in the garden and her love for earthly things, of my mother’s dream to visit here with me for three weeks. She fulfilled that dream through love and perseverance.
I would rather die the hopeless romantic with childlike awe, than the serious fool who doesn’t dare to dream.